


On sadness.

by pipkin



Category: SHINee
Genre: M/M, Sad.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 11:51:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1031404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pipkin/pseuds/pipkin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is just a short scene which is quite sad ;a;</p>
            </blockquote>





	On sadness.

January 2012

555 words.

 

Jinki lay in bed, listless and barely breathing when Minho finally rolled out of bed, taking away his solidity and warmth.  He didn’t even glance down at him, the air still frosty from the argument of the night before, and stumbled towards the bathroom. There hadn’t been any hugging, no snuggling, no sleepy kisses.  Instead, he’d maintained his distance from his boyfriend, trying to make his point.  And when, at some time in the darkness of the night, he’d uncharacteristically blinked awake, he became aware of his palm resting over Jinki’s loosely closed fist.  Even in his sleep, he mused, after gently lifting his hand away, Jinki was fighting against him.  He couldn’t see his face, since he was swaddled in his covers as usual – it was strange, really, that his hand has been out in the first place – but his eyes swept over the immobile lump and he felt his throat constricting. ‘ _Foolish man_ ,’ he thought, and turned away.  Still though, it has taken a long time for him to calm down enough to sleep.  He wanted – desperately – to turn back and wind himself around his boyfriend, pull away the sheets, kiss him awake, until they both fell back asleep and Minho became his duvet, tightened securely around him, Jinki’s face buried in his chest, his even breathing soothing Minho’s bruised heart.  But that wouldn’t get them anywhere, and Minho couldn’t do it this time.  So many times they had threaded temporary stitches here, but inevitably, the stitching would unravel when they faced the same problem again.

‘ _Why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?_ ’ Minho would ask, sometimes tenderly, sometimes angrily, but usually exasperated.

‘ _Nothing,_ ’ he’d reply and turn away, face blank, or worse, with a fake bright smile, the same one he gave the cameras, the one Minho had come to almost abhor.  It was worse, wasn’t it?  To smile so hard when you were hurting from the very depths of your soul.  He thought Minho didn’t know, but how could he not?  The way his eyes sometimes became so very far away, as though he were living somewhere else, looking towards him from a great distance.  Daydreaming wasn’t uncommon, it was an escape, a pleasure, but for Jinki it became a state of being.  Days.  Weeks.  Minho would feel the familiar despair creeping into his lungs as he watched the tendrils of unconsciousness wind their way around his boyfriend until he became cocooned in an existence Minho couldn’t reach.  Until reality tore it open some way or another, as it always did.  He hated it.

And sometimes, oftener, too often, he heard his snuffling tears that would gasp from his throat after he thought Minho was asleep.  The first time he heard him, he’d immediately engulfed him, all questions and assurances, but no matter, because Jinki’s face had scrunched even more and he wouldn’t meet Minho’s eyes for days afterwards.  So now Minho let him cry himself out and waited for the consistent deep breathing until he turned around, tenderly kissing his just visible closed eyelids still wet from his tears, and pulled his body flush against his, arms wrapped securely around him, in what felt like a futile attempt to hold together all the pieces of Jinki before they escaped him, before they got lost, before he was too late.


End file.
